


How Long?

by SlantedKnitting



Series: big bangs and challenges [15]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, M/M, Modern Era, Reincarnation, Reunions, Skin Hunger, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 14:48:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19770460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlantedKnitting/pseuds/SlantedKnitting
Summary: Merlin lives his life alone. Until.





	How Long?

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Merthur Touch Fest](https://artypendragon.livejournal.com/9432.html) focusing on touch deprivation/skin hunger.

Just Merlin. That's all it ever was. That's all he ever was. No matter how many lives he lived, how many things he saw, how many things he did, it was always only Merlin. Just himself.

There was no one else. No one else could really see him, understand him, know him.

He had tried, for a time. He had tried to make new relationships, to let others in, to rebuild something for himself.

It wasn't worth the pain, in the end.

There really wasn't anything for him. There really wasn't anyone for him.

And so he lived, alone, for lifetimes. Days, weeks, years, decades, centuries, millennia. Alone.

He drifted in and out of his life. Sometimes he felt engaged, alive, embraced by the world around him and what he had to offer, even if he was only ever offering it to himself. Other times he felt dead, stiff, silent, mute, like an observer to his own life. He imagined he was like a tree, solid, waiting, growing, sharing, but still. Ever so still, ever so alone.

He couldn't remember the last time he had properly been Merlin _and_. It had been so long ago. Too long ago. The memories faded, and all he had left were the feelings. The feeling of belonging, of being a part of something, of having a greater purpose than himself.

Now he had just himself, his life to live, his time to pass.

And he did pass the time. He lived. He survived. He moved through time, through lives, through kings and queens and wars and invasions. He saw it all, from a distance. He had no part to play in such things anymore. His role was to get through it, to get to the other side, to see it come.

He lost hope. It would never come. It would never be time. The world had changed, the landscape had changed, the boundaries and nations and kings had all changed. There was no Albion, no greatest need, nothing.

Just Merlin.

He hadn't seen another human in years. Decades, maybe. Centuries. He'd lost touch, lost faith, lost interest. He'd lost the need for companionship. He had himself, and that was all he wanted. The world didn't understand him, and he didn't want it to. He didn't need that. There was only one thing he needed, and that thing was impossible, so there was no point.

No point but to keep going, keep living, keep breathing. Day by day, year after year, century upon century.

Until.

One day.

Merlin wakes up feeling new. Feeling more alive than he has in so long he doesn't even know. Feeling like there is a purpose. Like there is something out there for him. Someone, maybe. Something, at least.

He goes to the lake to wash, and it's warm and sunny, so he stays. He sits on the edge, his feet caught in the ebb and flow, and just watches the water.

"Excuse me."

Merlin continues staring out at the lake. No one has come by here in so long. The accents have changed. He wonders when it was that he last heard another human's voice. This one is nice, pleasant, friendly.

"Have you seen a dog come by here?"

"No," Merlin says, and his voice is stronger than it should be considering he hasn't said anything in ages. He's long outgrown the habit of talking to himself. He doesn't really feel the loneliness anymore. He's learned to live as himself, just as he is, without the need for false conversations.

Footsteps retreat, and then they come back again.

"Excuse me," the voice says again. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," Merlin says.

He looks up and scrambles to his feet, not really believing his eyes. It can't be.

Perhaps he really is lonely after all. Perhaps, in his quietness, he's lost touch with reality. Perhaps he's finally dying after all, and this is one last sad joke.

"Are you sure?" the man asks.

The man is tall, about the same height as Merlin. He has blond hair and blue eyes and a strong jaw. A strong nose, too. Bright white teeth. Chiselled cheekbones and laugh lines around the eyes and mouth. Plump lips.

He stands strong, his shoulders squared and his feet spaced apart, ready to move, ready to spring into action, ready to lead the charge.

He has a commanding presence, like he belongs exactly wherever he is, like he knows there is space for him in the world, like he owns it.

He can't be. It can't be him.

Merlin takes a step forward and pauses, realising there is nothing he can do. This man is not who Merlin thinks he is, and he will not respond kindly to Merlin falling at his feet.

"Are you all right?" he asks again.

Merlin just nods. He can't look away. The resemblance. It's not even really a resemblance, it's just him. It has to be. It can't be.

"Arthur?"

The man frowns, and Merlin has seen that expression so many times before.

"How do you…" The man steps closer, and Merlin freezes, feeling caught "Merlin?"

Merlin has to remind himself to keep breathing. He thinks of what he must look like, old and haggard and lifeless. How anyone could recognise him in this state is beyond him. He should have taken better care of himself, should have aged more gracefully, should have reverted to his younger self before stepping outside of his cabin that morning.

"Merlin?" he asks again.

"Is it you?"

"It's me," Arthur says. He takes another step. "Is it you?"

"I'm Merlin."

"You're—"

Arthur reaches out and touches Merlin's face.

He doesn't feel it at first, can't feel it, can't register it. It's nothing. It's the same as anything and everything else.

Then it reaches him, that feeling of being touched, that reality of skin against skin, that connection with another living creature.

Merlin closes his eyes and feels tears sliding down his cheeks. It's been so long. It's been so long.

"Merlin," Arthur whispers, and Merlin hears him stepping closer again. "Merlin."

Merlin is wrapped in Arthur's arms, held against his chest, brought close.

He can't breathe. He's sobbing, his body lost to sensation, his mind caught on 'it can't be', everything melting and reforming around him.

He drops to his knees and folds forwards, holding onto Arthur's feet and trying to control himself. He misses Arthur's embrace immediately. Those arms around him, that solid form against his own, that breath in his hair. He had it, and then he lost it, and he aches for it again.

"Merlin," Arthur says, crouching down and petting his hair. Merlin leans into it. "Merlin, how long have you been here?"

Merlin doesn't know how to answer that question, so he doesn't. He just sits, letting Arthur stroke his head, until he can breathe again. His chest is still tight, still aching to be close to Arthur's again, but he can breathe.

"How are you here?" he asks. "Where have you been?"

Arthur doesn't answer those questions, either.

They turn, sitting where Merlin had been, feet in the lake, eyes on the water. Arthur takes Merlin's hand, and Merlin's skin tingles from the contact. It's all he can do to stop himself from breaking down again. It's been so long.

And it's not just his skin. It's his magic, brewing beneath his fingertips, straining to get out, to get close to Arthur, to be free and wild and _with_ someone.

Merlin hasn't used it in so long, he wonders if he will even remember how.

"Merlin," Arthur finally says as the sun starts to set. "Will you come home with me?"

Merlin nods and leads Arthur back to his cabin. He goes to change and, pressing himself back against his bedroom wall, focuses everything he can on his magic and his past life and the man waiting for him in the next room.

When he emerges, he is young again, himself.

This time Arthur is the one who cries, and he brings Merlin in for another hug, and Merlin wonders if it's been a long time for him, too. What have they both been denying themselves while they waited for each other? How can they heal what got broken, how they can find what got lost?

Arthur takes Merlin to his car—and what a marvellous thing that is—where a dog is waiting by the front tires. Arthur scoops up the dog and deposits him in the backseat, letting Merlin take the front. He holds Merlin's hand as he drives, letting go only when they reach his house.

It's a nice house, much bigger and more modern than Merlin's cabin, and it smells like Arthur on the inside. The dog runs around, collecting its toys to show Merlin, and Merlin wonders at the fact that Arthur is the one to make them tea. He never would have done such a thing, back then.

They sit at Arthur's table, and Merlin tells Arthur about his life. It's a short story, despite the years. And Arthur, having so many fewer years but living in a time that moves faster, has more to tell. His childhood, his youth, his studies, his work. His dreams of Merlin, his memories of Camelot, his longing for another life. It's all there, the same as Merlin's.

Later, when Arthur is setting their mugs in the sink and Merlin is standing nearby, wondering what comes next, Arthur turns and kisses him.

It's soft, so tender, and Merlin feels tears slipping down his cheeks again. However long it's been since someone has touched him, this has been even longer. His lips fumble, his tongue is useless, his teeth are in the wrong place, everything is a mess, but Arthur doesn't seem to mind. His cheeks are wet, too, as he pulls Merlin closer, as he gets a hand in Merlin's hair, as he lifts the hem of Merlin's shirt with his other hand.

He gets his fingers on Merlin's side, and Merlin gasps against his lips. His body lights up in a way he had forgotten was even possible, that small place where he and Arthur are connected burning with heat and promise.

Merlin hurries to pull Arthur's shirt off. He breaks the kiss, running his hands over Arthur's chest, searching out the familiar scars but finding none. This is a new Arthur.

Still, it's a wonder, touching another person, touching this person in particular. Merlin's fingers don't quite know what to make of it, of all the possibilities of where he can touch.

Arthur loses patience with Merlin's exploration and takes his hand again, leading him further into the house, into the bedroom. They fall into the bed, getting quickly out of their clothes and then getting slowly together. It's all slow and warm, sweet and beautiful, touching and wondrous.

Merlin feels himself falling apart again, his body shaking, unused to so much contact, to any contact at all. Arthur holds him through it, traces patterns on his skin with fingertips and lips, learns his every reaction.

They curl up afterwards, Arthur draping his whole body on Merlin's, and Merlin can feel every inch. Every spot Arthur is touching is alive again, new, grateful, ready. It's been so long, but it was worth the wait, and Merlin knows that it wouldn't have been the same with anyone else. He's meant for Arthur, as Arthur is meant for him, and they fall asleep entangled, holding on to each other, wrapped up in everything they are together, everything they were apart cast aside.


End file.
